


WITNESS

by grimtart



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M, Sexual Tension, Tinsworth, Unhealthy Relationships, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Violence, don't ask why c.c. tinsley witnessed the murder he was probably takin a stroll or smth idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14245998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimtart/pseuds/grimtart
Summary: “I know you don’t want to get hurt, long legs, and I know that youreallydon’t want to get hurt by me.”Ricky Goldsworth and C.C. Tinsley became detectives together. Ricky went rogue.Tinsley witnesses something he wishes he didn't and Ricky finds him.





	1. ROGUE

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

_Thump-thump-thump-thump._

_Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumthump--_

If C.C. Tinsley could breathe, he did not know it. The heaving of oxygen from his lungs was heavy compared to the gasps of air he barely took in, his heart thumping so hard in his chest that he felt it might pop out. Disorientation was uncommon for him; he had been a detective too long to be scared of the scene of the crime or the criminal in question. However, running was instinctual at the sight of what had happened, despite how he wished he had handled things differently.

How was he to stand still with Ricky Goldsworth in front of him, covered in blood?

Tinsley only stopped when his legs began to tremble with exhaustion, indicating that he could not make it any further without keeling down onto his knees. He turned a sharp corner and pressed his back to the chilly, crumbling brick building that stood comfortingly behind him. The fact that he was running was doubly useless to him, seeing as nobody was chasing him, but he had no mind to question it.

Not even for a second.

Ricky had trained with him; he had been certified as an investigator on the same day as him, assumedly becoming his partner in justice from that moment onwards. Hell, Tinsley had thought they would be inseparable from the very moment they became close friends. There was no thought that Ricky would only last in law enforcement for months before going rogue out of nowhere, and even less thought that he would end up like this--soaked in red, a knife in his hand and a grin on his face. Like he enjoyed it. Like he craved it. Like he--

Tinsley forced himself to stop thinking about it; his mind was running wild. He tried to replace his intrusive thoughts with white noise, hoping that it would silence the confusion and erase what he had witnessed, but this only made things worse. Sweat dripped down his forehead, a sticky and hot film casting over it just as he lifted his hands and attempted to slick it away with the pads of his fingers. Jesus Christ, this was not good. This was not good at all.

Paranoia was, naturally, beginning to sink into Tinsley’s system and control his body functions. He felt skittish, eyes bouncing all around to make sure that he was alone, ears hypersensitive with the hope that no footsteps would approach his location. Had Ricky even caught glimpse of him, or had Tinsley imagined it as he had froze in place near the scene? Was Ricky following him, sniffing him out? Was he ready to take him out next?

“ _Fuck_.” The curse was grumbled under Tinsley’s breath. He had to get out of there, away from the scene and safe in a place where he could get a hold of himself. A few seconds passed, and then a few more, before he felt enough of a rush of confidence to peek out from his hiding place.

He seemed to be alone.

When he was sure that he was steady enough, he took off for some place safer.

  
*

The scene of a crime used to be so horrifying.

Then again, was it ever really? Ricky could not recall the last time he was appalled by blood or by dismembered bodies staring back at him, lifeless. He truthfully could not think of a time where he did not feel sick at the sight of a murder. Perhaps things were better for him this way.

The reason why Ricky passed through school and became a detective in the first place was incredibly simple: he could never be a proper criminal without knowing how to get away with it, could he? Becoming close to C.C. Tinsley was entirely circumstantial, albeit enjoyable at times. It was almost fun to see Tinsley completely unaware of Ricky’s motive, laughing with him while ignorant of the fact that he was going to be betrayed when the race was run. Tinsley was an alright guy, but this was just the luck of the draw; somebody was bound to get attached, Ricky assumed, and who better than the top of their class?

Who better than the intelligent C.C. Tinsley?

The man had been intelligent enough to run away from the crime scene when he had. He thought that he was not seen, but Ricky was not naive enough to leave his surroundings unnoticed. Being caught in the act was not exactly planned nor was it convenient, but Ricky knew better than to think Tinsley would run the murders to law enforcement’s attention; Tinsley would not immediately rat him out for a number of reasons, one of them being that he still held sentimentality for him despite being undoubtedly confused.

He had some time to clean up and come up with a course of action before his former friend could get him in the doghouse.

Alone with the company of the dead, Ricky found himself in a quiet fit of laughter as he tightened his grip around the knife in his palm. He took the bottom hem of his shirt and wrapped it around the blade, cleaning it with one quick swipe.

Without any more hesitation, he left the scene without a trace.

 

*

 

A week had passed.

Seven straight days had dragged onward since Tinsley had seen something he would rather not have. He had only slept four out of those seven, spending his time at his desk connecting dots and putting together a malicious jigsaw puzzle. The fact that he had not alerted somebody else about what he saw had a little less to do with feeling betrayed and a bit more to do with putting things together in isolation. A lot of things were beginning to make sense that had not shone through before.

There had been six murders in the past two weeks that had been baffling the justice system. There was no individual evidence at the scenes, and each murder had been at different locations: a bridge, a home, an alleyway, a high school football field, a back road, and behind an abandoned apartment building. None of these murders had any sort of eyewitness, and Tinsley had felt like he was at a dead end until he had found Ricky at the scene of the seventh murder.

Ricky had an unforeseeable pattern on purpose to ward off the connection between each death.

In reality, without finding out who was behind the killings, this would have worked if the murders had not been so close together on the timeline. Tinsley felt uncomfortably awed.

_KNOCK. KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK._

The thumps on his apartment door made Tinsley nearly jump out of his skin. His eyes ripped away from the desk of evidence, photos and reports scattered, unorganized. Was this somebody checking to see why he had not shown up at work for the past week? As Tinsley glanced towards the clock, he realized that this was highly unlikely at two in the morning. His stomach sank into the lowest pits of his body as he mustered up some confidence and stood up. He pushed his chair in and headed for the door, his socked feet taking silent steps.

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK._

The knocks were incessant. Tinsley flicked the locks and twisted his doorknob, opening the apartment door to reveal Ricky Goldsworth at his finest, five foot ten and, this time, clean of all blood.

The wind left Tinsley’s system.

“C.C. Tinsley!” Ricky announced, no mind for how loud his voice was for the time of night. “Old buddy, old pal. Bring it in?” He opened up his arms and gestured for a hug, but took no time moving inward and hugging Tinsley without waiting for his response. He gave his back a couple of pats. “I wanted to check up, see how the, uh--crime investigation?--how that’s going. You were always so fit for it.”

Tinsley was as calm as he could be, though this was not saying much. He returned the hug with an understandable amount of haste. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he responded, “Yeah, it’s going.” Acting natural was key to making himself seem normal in this situation, but he had the awful gut feeling that this was not a leisurely visit.

Ricky knew something about what Tinsley knew.

Tinsley pulled away from the hug when he began to feel more unsettled and Ricky followed suit. He continued, “What’ve you been up to, Ricky? Your ass dropped off the face of the Earth until just now, so.” A forced laugh came out from deep within his system.

Inviting himself in, Ricky shrugged, brushing past Tinsley and taking a look around the disorganized apartment. The Playstation was paused on the television, a coffee pot brewing on the table next to it. The coffee table and the desk had papers, photos, and folders scattered across them, and it caught Ricky’s interest. Instead of commenting on those, however, he responded, “Guess I did, C. I’m a busy man. And, you know, honestly?” He raised his brows, turning to look at Tinsley again. “I got a little tired of the law charades after a while--kinda got repetitive, right? Criminals have no style anymore.”

“Sure don’t.” Tinsley closed the door with a muted _click._ He watched Ricky with a dead stare, making sure that he did not get any closer to the evidence pile than he already had. In doing this, he walked over and got in between Ricky and that section of the room, trying not to cause alarm as he did so. “You should have texted or something. I went past your apartment a few times in the past few months and it looks kinda abandoned. You move or something?”

Ricky let out an unwarranted laugh. “Not exactly,” he answered. “I mean, I’ve been bunking with some friends, but I stop by the apartment sometimes. Just to grab a thing or two.” With a small wink, Ricky flashed Tinsley a smile and reached out to pat his shoulder, slipping past him and to the piles of evidence that now reeked of “Goldsworth.”

“Wait--”

“Well, what is _this_?” Papers were shuffled through and photos of crime scenes were glanced over. Ricky threw on an expression that implied that he was touched, making eye contact with Tinsley as he said, “This is cute. Just--adorable, Tins.” After a moment, he threw down any papers that were in his hands and leaned some on the desk. “Now how long has this little collection been going on? Since the beginning? Or has it just been these couple weeks? ‘Cause, I gotta tell ya, this is pretty impressive.”

Tinsley’s panic mode was flashing red lights like alarms in his body and it showed on his face. He wanted to reach for any one of his weapons, but the sight of Ricky casually pulling his blade from his back pocket stopped him dead in his tracks. “So you’re here because I’m onto you,” Tinsley confirmed.

Ricky hummed in thought. He tilted his head, looking away from Tinsley as he pretended to give the question some consideration, but he quickly dropped the act and returned his focus to the other man. “It would just be a _real_ shame if the curtains closed a little too early on my show here. Right?” He raised his knife some to indicate what he was talking about, as though it needed any more explanation. “And I couldn’t have my _partner in justice_ end up spilling his guts--or getting them spilled for him.”

“So you want me to pretend I never saw anything and that you’re not the guilty party?” Tinsley was in disbelief. “Because there’s no way that’s happening. You _do_ realize that, right?” His talk was getting risky for someone who had no weapon to protect himself, but he could not stop it from spilling out. “One way or another, you’re going to get caught. Somebody else is going to be on your tail besides me.”

“Promise?” Ricky smirked in a way that gave Tinsley a chill up his spine. “Anyway, no, I don’t want you to pretend anything. I don’t want you to lie, or cover for me, or anything. Does that make your tummy feel better?”

“Ricky--”

“‘Cause here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna come with me, because, realistically, you don’t really have a choice. We’re going to take all of the ‘evidence’ with us, and you are going to leave your weapons and your phone here. Sound like a plan, bud?” Ricky took a step closer to Tinsley, who refrained from stepping back in fear that the knife, which was at stomach-level now, would thrust forward.

“How don’t I have a choice? Explain that one to me.” Tinsley's voice was as angry as it was on edge. It was not just the murders that got under his skin, but also Ricky’s duplicity and disgusting amount of confidence. Running on very little sleep did not help.

Ricky pressed the tip of his knife lightly to Tinsley’s stomach when he realized that was why he was not backing away, basking in the fact that the little action made the detective stiffen with nervousness. “I know you don’t want to get hurt, long legs, and I know that you _really_ don’t want to get hurt by me.” The shorter stepped one more step closer, leaving very little room between them. “Even more? I know you don’t want to look like you were involved here. What will the higher-ups think of you keeping things quiet a week after witnessing what happened? That won’t look too good, will it? Especially when they know how close we were. Aw...or should I say _are_?”

As Ricky moved back and gave him space, Tinsley realized that he had been holding his breath.

He breathed again.

Silence took over. The two stared at each other, both knowing that Ricky had the upper hand. He continued, “Well! Whatcha waitin’ for? Pack up those little folders of yours and let’s get moving, Tins!”

Tinsley wanted to be difficult. He wanted to resist and stay where he was, to not give Ricky what he wanted. But as much as he did not want to admit it, Ricky had valid points that, truthfully, scared him as much as they pissed him off. As slowly as he could manage, trying to combat the other as much as he could, Tinsley made his way to the table and began to accumulate his evidence piles into folders, not minding what went where as he shoved each folder into the open briefcase at the edge of the desk. He gathered everything from the desk and then from the coffee table, closing the briefcase with a slam and two clicks.

“Phone?”

“It’s in my bedroom.”

“Good boy,” Ricky said, his tone heavy with mockery. He took a good look around the apartment, hands on his hips, before slipping his knife back into his back pocket and heading for the door. “I’ve got my car right up front. You want front or back seat?”

As he sought out his shoes and slipped them on, Tinsley did not respond. Responding was feeding Ricky exactly what he wanted and, if nothing else, the former was intent on keeping him from being satisfied by anything coming from him. He followed to the door unwillingly, carrying his briefcase with his right hand in a white-knuckle grip.

The silence amused Ricky enough to make him chuckle again. He pulled the door wide open and said, “That’s fun, too. Front it is.”

Without another word, they left the apartment building.


	2. BETRAYAL

The car ride was saturated in tension. Rubber tires spun wildly on pavement back roads while Ricky drove, darkness surrounding them and seeming to seep into the car through the windows. The headlights were on, but this did not make up for the fact that Ricky was a reckless driver. Tinsley tried to keep distracted from how fast they were going, eyes glued to his knees and hands in his lap. His briefcase had been in his lap previously, but he had thrown it into the back seat moments before.

“What are you getting out of this?” he asked. He had gained some confidence now that they were reintroduced and the knife was safely away, Ricky focused on the road in front of them. “You can’t keep me here forever.”

Ricky cackled some as he took a look over at Tinsley, complete disregard for the road washing over him for just a second before he returned his focus to it. He exclaimed, “He speaks!” As he hummed lightly to a radio that was turned off, Ricky let the question hang in the air, enjoying how serious Tinsley was while he himself was loose and amused. Slouched in his seat, he finally decided to answer the detective. “Maybe not. But it’s sure as hell fun to _try_ , yeah, Tins? I could use a buddy here--remember how we used to be?”

Tinsley scoffed and dared to look over at Ricky with two cold eyes. “Yeah. You _used_ to be like me. You _used_ to, I don’t know, give a shit? Give a shit about doing the right thing and not--this.” Embarrassingly, he could not bring himself to describe what “this” was. He knew that Ricky would eat that right up, that he would just _love_ how Tinsley felt sick at the thought of his ex best friend murdering an innocent human being, but it was not something that he could outwardly deny. “You became an ass.”

“Or maybe I always have been. You don’t know as much as you think you do, so I advise that you stop giving yourself so much credit.” There was a chill to Ricky’s voice. A seriousness came about his physique and countenance that made Tinsley immensely uncomfortable. “Don’t get me wrong, you were _so_ fun to play with. Just don’t get in your head about it--I have _always_ been ‘an ass,’ as you so eloquently put it.”

“We were supposed to be partners when we got certified.”

“Oh my God, you’re hung up on _that_?” Ricky let out a titter that he could no longer hold in. “Cute, but that was never actually going to be a thing. Surprise!”

Betrayal. _Betrayal._ This was the only word repeating over and over in Tinsley’s head. Now that the situation was processing fully, so was their conversation in real time. The knowledge that Ricky was never truly his friend, that he played with his head and made him believe that he was a good man, that he was going to stay by his side when they advanced, made Tinsley want to reach over and knock Ricky a few times in the head. But he knew better than to do that, and, in any case, he was too drained to lunge over that way, so he gripped his own hands together instead.

“So if I don’t matter to you and you want to keep me quiet, why not just kill me? Why are you keeping me around?”

“Dunno. You’ll probably be useful.”

Tinsley felt too frustrated to respond again, knowing that it would be to no avail anyway. The bubble of rage in his body was about to burst. He felt heat in his face as it reddened, his thoughts practically spilling out of his ears. He hated how invested he had been in his friendship with Ricky and how much he had cared about him, how much he _still_ , despite all current events, cared about him, and how badly he wanted things to be different. Every part of him wanted the car to stop so that he could fight Ricky bare-handed, but he refrained from attempting to make this a reality.

Ricky glanced over when he felt the air between the two of them become more rigid.

He used the same mocking tone he had when they were leaving the apartment as he spoke up. “So red,” he commented, talking about Tinsley’s heated face. “How you feelin’, Tinsley? Upset? I understand.” A nod. “Chin up, buttercup. This is all for our own good.”

In an instant, Tinsley’s patience became lost. He raised his voice, filling the car with his voice as he responded, “How is this for _my_ good?”

_SLAM._

Ricky’s foot fell onto the brakes like a bag full of lead. The tires screeched in a way that drilled into Tinsley’s eardrums. The shorter’s hands gripped onto the steering wheel like vice grips as Tinsley lurched forward; the only thing keeping him from flying towards the very front of the car was the click of his safety belt holding him in place. An involuntary gasp came out of his mouth and his hands automatically flew forward to hold the dashboard. It was clear that Ricky did not appreciate being yelled at. He closed his eyes as the car stood in place, taking in a deep breath before responding through his teeth, petrifyingly cold and angry, “You should be thankful that I think you’re useful, Tinsley, because, otherwise, I would have slit your throat apart the _second_ I thought you were going to rat me out.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

The brakes were lifted and Ricky began to drive again. His face fixed as he opened his eyes and made a closed-lip smile.

“Sorry! Little slip,” Ricky said, as though nothing largely important had just happened. “Stay in line, babyboy, and you should be fine. No hard feelings?”

Tinsley would have been lying if he said that he was not truly scared for his life, not just in the moment but in his near future. He also would have been lying if he said that he was not planning to retaliate at some point. In life, he was not one to sit in place and let himself endure something like this. Ricky needed time to settle into this, though, and as long as Tinsley played into it and became trusted, he would have a larger likelihood of escaping alive.

For the moment, Tinsley would play Ricky’s game.

“Where are we going, Ricky?” Tinsley asked, his voice carefully lowered as to not alarm the other again.

As his shoulders loosened up, Ricky responded, “Don’t worry your big head about that.” This jab was almost a joke; he grinned about it and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “You’ll understand when we’re there.”

Tinsley nodded. His assertiveness grew from there.


	3. PITY

Ricky’s car came to an eventual stop in front of a small house, dull and dim, isolated between thick collections of trees. The vibe of the area made Tinsley’s gut wrench, but he swallowed his distaste and tried to move with the current flow. The objective was to adjust and overcome. With a swift turn, Tinsley reached back and snatched his briefcase from the back of the car, undoing his seatbelt immediately after. This was all before Ricky had a chance to turn the car off.

When Ricky did, however, twist the key and rip it out of the ignition, he already had complete indifference towards which of them took the evidence inside. What mattered was that it was there. “Welcome to _mi casa_ ,” he said, giving Tinsley an eyebrow raise before slipping out of the vehicle and slamming his door shut. The loud noise echoed around them and the trees absorbed the sound. Tinsley followed suit. Ricky continued, “No neighbors, no problem. Wouldn’t want them to feel uncomfortable with the fun.”

“I’d imagine.” Sarcasm lining his vocal cords, Tinsley inspected the house further. The paint was almost entirely weathered off of the rotting wood of the outer walls, but the roof seemed intact and so did the windows. The door, at least from a distance, appeared rickety. If he were to ever give a description of a murderer’s home, this would most likely be the closest thing to his guess than anything. He noticed that Ricky was starting for the house in order to enter, so he followed him, feet squishing against wet grass and leaves, snapping small, damp twigs as he stepped over them. “So this is where you’ve been instead of your apartment?”

“Good hypothesis!” Ricky said, twisting the old doorknob and pressing his body into the door to open it up. “Really had to use that smart detective brain of yours, huh?” It was clear that he was purposely demeaning Tinsley. He reached over and tapped on the lamp that stood on the table next to the house’s entrance, turning it on with a simple touch, and then looked over at Tinsley like he should have been impressed. “Check it--wireless touch lamps. I don’t pay for electric bills in my little house here because I’m not a fucking idiot, so these come in handy.”

Albeit not impressed, Tinsley did internally admit that this was a smart idea. It was a lot better, in his opinion, than keeping candles everywhere. Tinsley watched Ricky tap a couple more lamps around the room. He closed the door and set his briefcase beside it, discreetly pressing it up against the wall. It was somewhat out of sight and, therefore, somewhat out of mind. As Tinsley took a look around, advancing into the place a little more, he noticed that it was eerily cozy and organized; a bookshelf full of books stood along the far wall next to what looked like a kitchen entrance, furnishings were clean and abundant, and the clock on the wall clicked in correct time. Little signs of life, like water bottles and a wastebasket, seemed naturally stationed at a work desk beside the bookshelf.

“Well,” Ricky said, quickly running a hand through his hair to push it back and off of his forehead, “kick off those shoes! Relax! Stay a while.” He worded this as though Tinsley had a choice. After a second or two of keeping a close eye on him, the shorter male pivoted and headed into the kitchen, thirsty and positive that Tinsley would not dare to take off through the front door. “Want a drink?” he called over his shoulder.

“I feel like my answer to that won’t matter.”

“You’re probably right!”

It felt unsatisfying, but Tinsley did as was suggested: he took off his shoes, slid them to the side of the den’s couch, and plopped down upon one of the cushions. He wiped his clammy hands on the fabric of his pants and waited for Ricky to return. It was unfamiliar to have no distraction in his hands, like a notepad or his phone, and since he was so uncomfortable in Ricky’s “house” this unfamiliarity only swelled. He felt squirmish, slouching some into the couch, but he straightened up again when he heard approaching footsteps.

 _Clink_. Two glass cups collided before Ricky stopped in front of the couch and held one out to Tinsley. It was plain beer, nothing extravagant, but it was clear that Tinsley was cautious to not accept a drink from someone who had slain his trust. Ricky combated this. “C’mon. Do you think I’d kill you with something stupid like this?” he asked.

It was only the truth.

Defeated, Tinsley reached up and took the dewey glass, the coldness of it soothing his hands.

It was only when one cup left his hands that Ricky held the other with both hands, shifting his body in order to sit down directly next to the other man. Being too close to Tinsley for comfort felt entertainingly powerful. Ricky took a long sip of his beverage and waited for Tinsley to do the same before he would begin speaking again. “Alright, Tins, let’s do something fun. Ask me whatever you want and I’ll answer.”

Tinsley heard a million questions scream out in his head, but he could not make out a single one. What was worth asking? What was worth an answer? What could he ask now that was not already answered for him? With care, he sipped from his glass again. He settled on asking, “What made you want to do all of this?”

“Now _that’s_ a good one.” Ricky nodded in approval of the question. “Here's some honesty: I don’t know if I ever _didn’t_ want to do this. I mean, think about it--what’s better than having complete control over someone? Nothing!” A laugh was belted out before he took a small break to drink. He swallowed fast. “You can get them to dance around like a puppet and do whatever you want ‘cause they’re scared you’ll plunge a knife into their belly, and you get to watch them think they’ll avoid it just because they’re playing the part.”

Feeling sick, Tinsley averted his eyes.

Ricky fell straight faced. “Next!”

“Do you feel bad for _anybody_ you’ve hurt?”

“No.” The answer was immediate. He shrugged at Tinsley and crossed his legs, relaxed. “I pick who I pick, I do what I do, and that’s about it. It’s just a huge rush, Tins, you have no idea--adrenaline beats guilt _any_ day.” Tinsley’s question rung in Ricky’s ears a bit after his response; it resonated with him in a sick way that delighted him. “But you’re implicating something, aren’t you? Aw.”

Tinsley’s grip was so tight on his glass that he felt it might shatter between his fingers. He leaned sideways marginally to set it down on the side table that stood on his side of the couch. “There’s nothing to implicate,” he insisted.

Ricky disregarded what Tinsley said. “Do I, deep down, feel guilty for stringing you along? Hm.” Shaking his head, he laid an arm across the back of the couch in the taller’s direction. “I guess I feel pity that you got _entirely_ too attached to me. It breaks my heart that you have to cope with all of this unrequited sentimentality--it really does, C.”

There was something about the tone of Ricky’s voice that made Tinsley want to explode. Holding himself together and reminding himself to breathe, he scooted away from Ricky some, establishing that he was not afraid to take steps to fight back. To his satisfaction, Ricky did not make any moves to get closer again. “This is honestly just--a ton of bullshit, Ricky. You’re not going to get away with everything you think you’re getting away with.”

“You think?”

“I _know_ .” Tinsley’s words were grounded and sure. As he grew angrier and angrier, he also grew more vocal, which was gratifying. Maybe he needed to stay angry to make it in this place. “You’re under this stupid impression that I’m completely weak and sensitive, but you’ve known me long enough to know that that’s not true. I’m _going_ to get away from you and break this whole thing down.”

“Unless I break _you_ down first,” Ricky said. His grin was an opposite mirror of Tinsley’s rigidity.

Tinsley had no response to give him.

Ricky continued, “That was fun! I’m beat, though. I’ll escort you to our room.”

“Our?”

“Mm. See how you just talked to me? Just before?” Standing up, Ricky held out a hand for Tinsley, offering to help him up from the couch. He placed his glass, which was safe in his opposite hand, next to the detective’s. “Can’t let you have _too_ much freedom with an attitude like that--sorry. Follow me.”

Bitter, Tinsley ignored Ricky’s hand and stood up on his own accord. He waited for Ricky to begin walking before doing as he was told, taking slow steps behind him, the floorboards creaking under their feet.

“Good boy.”


	4. METAPHORICAL

The night had disappeared and dawn had arrived before Tinsley would have liked. He had, admittedly, slept an incredible amount of time, which embarrassed him some, however he woke up less exhausted than he had felt in weeks. This was considered a win. When he looked to the other side of the bed, it registered in his mind a bit late that it was empty, which meant that Ricky was in some other room in the house. It felt relieving to be alone.

The blankets and sheets were wrinkled and warm, inviting Tinsley to bury himself back under the fabric and drift back off to his dreams. He considered this before refraining; as nice as it would have felt, he could not ward off the sense that he should stay awake and alert for what was to come next. In turn, he rubbed into his exhausted eyes with his fingers and slowly sat up, sliding the blankets off of his legs. The mattress springs creaked as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and set his socked feet upon the floor.

The gravity of the situation sunk back into his sympathetic nervous system.

Shuffling about and mumbling could be heard, the noises floating into the bedroom from the den. Ricky’s lower register was letting out grunts of satisfaction or dissatisfaction on and off, mostly between footsteps. Tinsley, curious, willed himself to stand up and stretch before padding towards the open bedroom door and exiting through it.

He made his way to the den to find Ricky hunched over the briefcase and its contents. When he felt his energy in the room, Ricky turned to look at Tinsley, flashing him a smile and a slight head tilt. “Good morning, sunshine!” he greeted him, insincere. There was a beat of silence before he realized that Tinsley was not going to respond; through the silence, he gestured towards the photos and typed papers that he had tacked up onto the wall, seemingly in an order. “You like what I did? I’m putting together a timeline.”

“Yep. The only thing missing is some red string.”

“ _Oooh_ , good idea. We should get some, make this thing _pop_.”

Tinsley walked closer to the scene, looking at the creation that Ricky had made with distaste. Photos of disembodied people, slit throats and missing limbs, bloodied stomachs and unidentifiable faces, stared back at him with misery. Crime scene reports and notes that had been ripped out from Tinsley’s notepad were placed appropriately under each photo. Hauntingly, there was room left to the side and below the sickening display. This meant exactly what Tinsley suspected: there would be more victims in the near future.

While Tinsley looked at each aspect of the wall as though he had never seen them before, Ricky watched him with two interested eyes. His pulse picked up as an idea that he had not thought of before slammed into his brain. A way to make the idea work was lost on him; he would simply have to ease into it.

It would take time.

“If you were to kill someone, what would you choose: knife, gun, or hammer?” he inquired.

The question caught Tinsley off guard. Unamused by it, he turned to look at the shorter with a discouraging look on his face, but it only made Ricky laugh. Tinsley responded, “Easy. I _wouldn’t_ kill someone, because I’m not a fucking psychopath. Good enough?”

“You’re no fun. It’s a metaphorical, Tinsy.”

For the first time since being in Ricky’s company, Tinsley laughed. It was a fed up laugh that involuntarily showed how drained from this situation he was. “Jesus Christ. Fine--I’d use a gun. You don’t have to get so close that way.”

“Getting close is the best part,” Ricky argued. “You get to watch them squirm right under you before-- _oops_ !--your hand slips and takes away _one hundred_ percent of their chance of survival. That’s why I use a knife.” Ricky said this as though it were obvious. “People only use guns from far away when they can’t stomach what they’re doing. Up close is different, but...”

Tinsley begged to differ, yet he refrained from giving the other a response in that fashion.

When he saw the opportunity to continue, Ricky seized it. “That _could_ be useful, though. Think about it: you shoot from the car window and I get out and finish the job. You wouldn’t be killing them--you’d be, shit, _destabilizing_ them, and I’d be doing the fun part.” The thought of the two of them working in tandem was actually immensely gratifying. He worked on pressing papers to the wall and securing them with push pins while he talked. “I’m smelling some fun little ideas. You with me?”

“Not even a little,” Tinsley answered, shaking his head as he fought the urge to reach forward and rip the evidence wall down.

“Let me catch you up to speed.” The room seemed to immediately fill up with an aura of malevolence. Ricky paused his activity and pushed the leftover papers aside on the table in order to pull himself up onto it. “You and I could have a little fun with a gun and a knife--self explanatory, right?”

The proposition that Ricky was offering was anything but tempting. Tinsley closed his briefcase, now empty, and pushed it towards the back section of the table. “That's funny,” he said. “I don't have _any_ interest in your little games, Ricky. But it was a good try.”

Swinging his legs forward and backwards from the height of the table, Ricky responded, “You wouldn't do more than shooting someone in the kneecap or something! C’mon--partners in justice and partners in _crime_. Just to see how it tastes.”

Was Ricky legitimately trying to convince him to assist in a murder? The audacity of the former was astonishing. Tinsley held his ground, giving the other a firm shake of his head. “Very convincing. How long are you going to ask until you understand that I'm not going to agree?”

“You're much more wordy today than you were yesterday.” The observation was both simple and exhorting. “I could always kill two in one night instead. _Three_ ? Now, three, I've never done before, but what a challenge! _Or_ ...” The idea that Ricky had imagined before was now surfacing loudly and clearly. “You could use one of my handguns and I could bag not two, not three, but _one_. How much blood do you want on your hands, Tins?”

Getting Tinsley to participate was less of a necessity and more of an amusement to Ricky. It made no difference to him whether or not he actually succeeded, however the idea of his detective pal hopping down from his mighty high horse was inspiring, and he had no doubt that he would do so to minimize the body count. Ricky hopped down from the table and brushed himself off just a bit before passing Tinsley for the bookshelf, reaching atop one of the shelves and feeling about the tops of some books. His fingers brushed across cold metal when he found the gun that he was looking for; he wrapped them around it and tucked it into his hand, pulling it down. He checked to see if it was properly loaded. “Beretta 92,” he explained, looking over at Tinsley and waving the gun at him to show it off.

“Common kind of gun.” Tinsley swallowed hard. He could not help but watch the gun and think about what was about to happen: either he entertained Ricky once or he enabled him to kill two or three on his own. Despite the obvious choice, he could not bring himself to say anything in regards to it. He would let silence tell Ricky his decision so that he did not have to force it out of his mouth.

The silence did, in fact, do the job. Satisfied, Ricky strode over to the taller once again and jabbed the weapon in his direction, waiting for him to accept it.

Tinsley asked, “How do you know I won’t just kill you?” Looking past the pistol, he fixated on Ricky’s expression to try and read it. He came up with nothing.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Ricky answered. “You don’t have the guts. You’re scared to shoot a kneecap right now.”

“I’m not scared to shoot criminals.”

“What are you waiting for then?”

The gun was still being held out, Ricky waiting for Tinsley to take it up. Eventually, he did, the handle now lukewarm from being held. It was true: he could point the gun at Ricky and shoot him, _kill_ him, in an instant. Nevertheless, Tinsley, a man with a heart and a history with this man, refrained. He put the gun down at his side and shrugged. “Satisfied?”

Ricky laughed. “Very.”


	5. PARTNERS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in the car is "Born Again" by Saint Motel! It's a catchy tune--and it's also in the WITNESS playlist. ;-)

_ “C’mon, Tins.” _

_ “Fuck you. I can’t.” _

_ “You can. You  _ will _. For me.”  _

 

 

**_BOOM._ **

 

 

Tinsley would never be able to forget these few moments that came to him in a panicked heat.

The window cranking down. The air conditioning airing and flattening beads of sweat upon the pale canvas of his face. The safety being turned off as he took aim, faltering with uncertainty the first time. Resetting when prompted and reminded of the situation. The pull of the trigger. The scream that echoed through the lonely property that they were on. 

The pure delight on Ricky’s face as he realized that he was winning.

Tinsley would never be able to forget that, while Ricky’s was physical and his was not, he had blood on his hands. While Ricky could wash his body, Tinsley could not wash his brain. He could never turn back.

_ He could never turn back _ .

The drive back to Ricky’s house was soaked in an overtone of tension. The two men were opposites of each other, one beaming and one lost in thought. The radio was set to a low volume, the sound radiating through the car and digging into Tinsley’s ears like a bullet through his heart. The stench of blood came from Ricky’s clothes, his hands, and the bloodied knife that was stuck blade-down in the middle cup holder. It all almost made Tinsley gag.

Ricky noticed the paled man in the passenger seat while he sunk down in it, almost as though he wanted to disappear from their reality. This had Ricky cackling over the steering wheel. “Oh, shut up,” he said. “It’s not like you haven’t seen blood before.” He turned the steering wheel as he took a left, cranking the volume up to cut Tinsley off before he could begin arguing. It was a method to keep him both quiet and frustrated. 

The gun’s safety was never reinitiated. The metal was warm with Tinsley’s body heat pressed into it, still heating up as he sweat himself, the handle of the pistol being held by a white-knuckle grasp. In the end, he had the opportunity to stop this right then and there.

He thought about it.

 

 

Entering the house felt eerily like returning home after a long day of work. Disliking the similarity, Tinsley shivered, his gut still aching to throw up as he had wanted to before. He took the gun to the opposite side of the living room from the door and threw it down onto an empty space on the bookshelf. There were a million words to say that his tongue would not cooperate with; this resulted in him staying silent as he paced, thinking about what to do from here and how to escape without Ricky noticing. 

“S’cuse me.” After toeing his shoes off next to the couch, Ricky rubbed his hands together, the dried blood seeming to make a whole noise of its own. “Should go change, clean up a bit.” The words sounded casual and it he knew that it crawled under Tinsley’s skin. Ricky took a glance around the room before pivoting and heading for the bedroom to change into something more comfortable and less red. 

The room fell into a pit of quietness when the shorter man retreated. Tinsley stopped pacing the instant he realized that he was alone and tried to pull himself together. Grasping the fact that this situation was not his fault was immensely difficult for him, despite how many times he attempted to convince himself. It felt like either decision would have torn him up inside and, ultimately, would have been his fault. But this decision had the least bloodshed.

This decision was the least evil.

Tinsley noticed how the aura of the room was suddenly thick with uneasiness. He willed himself to migrate to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. As he twisted the knobs by the sink and let the water run, he looked at himself in the mirror, noticing the dark semi-circles under his eyes and the washed out look to his cheeks for the first time. He almost looked sick. Then again, who would not? 

The water felt good on Tinsley’s hands as he cupped them under the faucet. They overflowed before he leaned down and wet his face, bringing himself back to focus and giving him some sort of relief that he so desperately needed. Typically, he was all there. He was focused. Driven. Ready to handle the things that were put in front of him. But it was understandable that he was disoriented, especially given the circumstances he was under. 

He twisted the knobs again to cut off the stream of water and looked around for a towel.

Before he could find one, the door’s latch clicked and the door opened, revealing a still-bloody Ricky with clothes and a towel draped over his shoulder. He took in the sight of Tinsley, washed and wet-faced, and made a face that mocked condolence. “Did it help?” he asked, referring to the other’s wet face. After waiting a few seconds for a response that he was not going to get, Ricky pulled his towel down from his shoulder and lifted it upwards. Tinsley, with reason, flinched away and puffed out his chest, indicating that he did not want Ricky to touch him in any way. Ricky looked at him like he was overreacting and then proceeded in dabbing his face dry. “ _ You  _ helped. That was some real good work, Tinsley.” 

Praise? For what? Tinsley felt incredibly uncomfortable with being told that he did a good job and it showed in both his expression and his stature. “This is so fucked up,” he responded. “All of this.” 

“I wouldn’t be too sure. You  _ did  _ save two lives tonight--how’d it feel?”

“Like I still helped take one.”

“That you did, Tins, but didn’t it feel just a  _ little  _ right?”

Ricky took a step closer as he brought the towel down and set it onto the counter. Tinsley took a step back and felt the cold, cold porcelain of the sink press against his lower back. His brows crinkled inward. Nearly chest to chest with him, Ricky pressed a finger to his shoulder, continuing to speak, his voice low. “Think about it: you didn’t panic, you didn’t overthink, you didn’t cry--you didn’t even throw up! Best of all, I think you’re starting to realize how much more power you have without the big guys looming over your shoulder.” He lowered his finger in order to rest his hand on Tinsley’s shoulder instead and kept his eyes locked on his. “I want us to be partners again. I _need_ you.”

The word “partners” truly made Tinsley’s stomach twist. Was he capable of that? Of turning against everything he believed in to run off with Ricky Goldsworth and play his game? The sick part was that, for a split second, he found himself unsure of turning back, and this scared him half to death. Maybe he cared for Ricky because of their past, perhaps a little too much given the circumstances, but he would never decide on his own accord to hurt another person.

Unless...he just had?

“I’m sure you follow.” Ricky’s tone stayed down as he slid the hand from Tinsley’s shoulder to the nape of his neck, pressing lightly and noting how Tinsley did not shift away. “I would make sure that you’d never get hurt. I would  _ protect  _ you, C.” 

Tinsley averted his eyes.

“Hey.”

He returned them. Ricky would not stop talking and every word that was spoken confused Tinsley more than the last. He was not sure whether it was the heat of the moment catching up on him and hijacking his self control or himself simply blacking out, but the words “I need you” and “partners” repeated in his head long enough for him to take the front of Ricky’s shirt and pull him into a deep, unannounced kiss. Every bit of feeling that he had ever felt for Ricky before he went rogue was spilling out and flooding the room without any kind of hesitation. 

If being told that he was needed, that he was  _ wanted _ , was some sort of manipulation tactic, it was working beyond his knowledge.

Ricky’s free hand moved to grip the waist of Tinsley’s pants as he leaned into the kiss, feeding Tinsley what he wanted. He took control of the situation by pressing Tinsley some more against the sink. Tinsley snatched the clothes off of Ricky’s shoulder and let them hit the ground. Their bodies were pressed completely together now, warm and frantic for two different reasons, and when the kiss broke the warmth only grew. Tinsley’s shaking hands felt for the hem of Ricky’s shirt and pulled it up some until Ricky laughed, moved his hands down, and took his wrists. 

“Slow  _ down _ , papi.” Ricky officially had more of a hold over Tinsley and it felt  _ fantastic _ . He dropped his wrists and backed up before looking at the specimen in front of him, who remained confused and desperate to be free--whatever that meant for him. It was true that Ricky could indulge Tinsley by taking things further, however it almost seemed more beneficial for him to wait it out. The best was yet to come.

On that note, Ricky picked his clothes up and returned to what he was doing before. He started the shower and set everything he needed on top of the counter with his towel. “Go lay down. You had such a long day,” he said. 

Tinsley only waited for a few seconds more before nodding and slowly,  _ slowly _ , leaving the bathroom. By the time he had reached the bedroom and laid down, he had lost track of what time it was and how long he had been awake. 

Maybe it was better that way. 


	6. HEAT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nsfw. ur welcome.

It was not for hours into the night that Tinsley woke up, a haze keeping his focus behind the curtains of his consciousness. Weight pressing down on his hips was what caused him to stir. His wrists were pulled up to either side of his head and held down hard, though still light enough to where he could successfully pull away on his own accord. As he blinked and tried to adjust his eyes to the darkness that engulfed the room, a soft  _ shhh  _ slipped through his eardrums. He could feel Ricky’s energy draw nearer.

Tinsley first had the mind to protest, but the night’s previous events came back to him in a heated flash. His gut tingled and his body warmed. He only nodded in response to the shushing, obeying when Ricky nudged his head to tilt it up, a soft hum escaping when he felt Ricky’s lips brush against the stubbly skin of his neck. Firm kisses were pressed against it.

_ Deep  _ was the only word that could explain how far C.C. Tinsley had inadvertently gotten himself into the situation of Ricky Goldsworth. He was a strong man who knew right from wrong, who wanted to serve justice and offer peace, and yet he still found himself to be putty in Ricky’s hands. Then again, when had he not been? Even during their past training, he had been stubborn and joking, sure, but he was so fond of Ricky that he could have shamelessly followed him around like a puppy if he had not been paying attention. Now, it was unclear to Tinsley whether he shot a woman because he wanted to avoid killing two others or because Ricky was the one who asked him to. Would he have shot Ricky and put an end to this if Ricky had not had such a grip on his heart?

It was a question to think about.

In fact, Tinsley had begun to think about it, but the sensation of teeth lightly grazing against the skin of his neck caused every thought to drain out of his head. This seemed to happen through his mouth in the form of a quiet whine. Ricky’s hips lowered and put pressure between Tinsley’s legs as he gently began to suck on the supple skin just below his jawline, causing Tinsley to instinctively rock his hips up. 

_ He was out of his mind. _

Ricky’s right hand released Tinsley’s wrist in order to travel down his body, slipping under his shirt to connect his warm, soft fingertips to Tinsley’s abdomen and then to his chest; the fabric of Tinsley’s shirt rode up slowly. Ricky backed off from the mark he had made on the taller’s neck and pressed his face to it as he grinded down into Tinsley, a little harder and a little faster. He grinned when Tinsley unsuccessfully attempted to stifle a sweet, quiet moan.

Before Tinsley could get the chance to speed things up, however, Ricky lifted the pressure completely and basked in the tension that leaked from the man underneath him, who practically smelt of sleepiness and desire. Tinsley, in a blank-minded moment, used his free hand to take Ricky by the waist and press him back down, circling up against him at the same time. This was countered by a marginally shocked Ricky, who slipped his hand from Tinsley’s chest to his wrist to pin it back down next to his head. He kept his hands down harder this time. 

“I think you’re forgetting who’s in charge,” he murmured. “Bad boy.” 

The words rung in the air surrounding them for only a couple of seconds. Ricky paused and gave the situation some thought before letting go of Tinsley and slipping off of him. He propped himself up against some pillows next to the melted man and reached over to run a hand through his hair. 

“Show me you can be good, and I’ll give you whatever you want.” 


End file.
